Billy Christmas

by Mark A. Pritchard

  His mother was still in the spare room, the door next to this window, but he had heard nothing since getting up. He was certain she was still in bed, as before. He looked up the hill towards Katherine’s house. Nothing was coming down the road. He sighed and went back to his room to dress.

  With the mistletoe still rustling as he threw on jeans and a jumper, Billy wondered what he should do. The Tree had surely been hinting that it knew that he hadn’t really kissed Katherine. Was he to succeed in every other task, bar that? That wouldn’t be enough, and though he felt closer to the Tree after last night, he didn’t kid himself that it would allow him a pass, or near miss, on any task. But how would he get close to Katherine now?

  Forcing himself into domestic mode, Billy shut the door on his room, with the mistletoe still suspended from his bed, and headed out of the house, planning to restock the kitchen. After a couple of experimental turns around the garden on his mother’s bike, he found he was now too tall for it. He went back to the shed and put the saddle up three inches. Katherine’s bike lay in three pieces on the floor. The bike was quite dead, and she was fortunate not to be on equal terms. At least his mother’s bike had a basket, and while that would be ghastly to have at the school bike shed, it was a welcome thing when you wanted to gather in food for Christmas.

  It was well after lunch by the time he returned. He’d come back into the house glowing from the cold air. Having stowed the groceries away, he took off his hat and headed into the house. As he passed the living room, he saw his mother, with an outstretched hand, touching the Tree. She was still in her dressing gown, but didn’t look too unhappy. After a while, she looked around and caught Billy’s eye.

  “I thought the tree was taller this year?”

  Billy stepped into the room. “It was, but it had started to go bad, so I took a little off the bottom.”

  His mother looked around the room, seeming lost. “It’s so clean in here. When did you find the time to do this?”

  “I got up early,” said Billy. “No school, remember?”

  His mother nodded, gave the room another glance, and then headed back upstairs. Giving the Tree a wry smile, he turned and followed her up the stairs.

  “Did you take my bike out?”

  “Yes, Mum.”

  “What happened to yours?”

  Billy paused for a moment; he hadn’t thought she would notice. “I got too big for it. I gave it away.”

  “You gave it away?” said his mother, turning on the landing. “But your dad gave you that. It cost a lot of money.”

  Billy took a moment before responding. “Someone is trying it out. If they like it, then they’ll pay me for it.”

  His mother turned back to her room, parting with such a quiet voice that Billy could barely hear it. “It never occurred to me that you’d sell it at all.”

  Lacking an explanation he could share with her, Billy turned back to his own room and turned the handle. The door wouldn’t open. He tried it again, turning the round handle fully both ways. He could hear his mother lying down on the bed, but her door wasn’t quite shut, meaning she could hear him too. He leant on the door harder. Nothing. Wedging a foot against the banisters he used his full weight on the door, though as quietly as possible. It gave a little. A strange smell hit him, like uncooked cabbages. He risked another shunt, and the door came free, not falling open, but allowing steady pressure to open it.

  As he feared, the mistletoe had made its way out of the bag and gone searching for bare wood. The door frame had been nearest, his bed being made of iron bars. The mistletoe had entered behind the joints which made the frame, swelling it so much that it had prevented the door from opening. But now it was out of the bag, pouch empty. How was he supposed to get it out of the frame?

  Infuriated, Billy grabbed the axe from the foot of the bed. Hoping he could get an edge of the blade into the door frame, he took the axe in both hands and turned back to the door. As he did, there was a hissing noise from the frame, almost like faint screaming. He took another step towards the frame; again the sound came. Puzzled, Billy pulled the axe above his head, looking as if he was preparing to swing. There was no mistaking the scream this time, faint though it was. The frame wobbled in front of him and gradually the mistletoe crept out. Using its stems as limbs, it pulled itself out of the frame, and then turned, pressing back against the wall as if terrified. Intrigued and smiling, Billy laid the axe down. The mistletoe appeared to calm itself, though it remained pressed against the wall.

  “Hello there,” said Billy. “No need to be frightened.”

  He took the velvet bag and untied the neck. The mistletoe began to shrink, stems slipping back into themselves and white berries popping into thin air, until it was small enough to fit back into the pouch. He held the neck open and placed the pouch in front of the plant. Slowly, it crept forwards and climbed inside.

  “Thanks,” he said. “It won’t be for long.”

  Grinning a little at this odd exchange, Billy pulled the drawstring closed, but didn’t knot it, by way of compromise. He put the axe back at the end of the bed next to the knuckleduster, and headed out of his room. His mother had remained in bed, despite all the noise. He suspected that she would still be there when he returned. He went downstairs and left the house by the kitchen door.

  Back in the shed he busied himself changing over the lights from Katherine’s bike to his mother’s. With the saddle at the right height, he was able to use his long legs properly and found he was able to make decent progress, albeit slower than the speed he was used to on his road bike. An arm of mistletoe with a single berry poked its way out of the pouch and over the edge of the front basket, apparently curious to know where it was off to. Billy was relieved the basket wasn’t made of wood, in case the mistletoe got peckish again. As he cycled the long way, alongside the river, it got quite excited by the number of trees, and he tucked it back inside the pouch, just in case.

  Along the High Street, the shopkeepers had put Christmas trees up above their shop fronts, tipping out and forming a guard of honour. The white lights in the trees flickered in the fading sun. People bustled, taking advantage of the extra day without children to buy remaining gifts. The determined shoppers had a desperate, even anxious, edge as they hunted down ever greater numbers of gifts and trinkets. Weaving through the mob, Billy kept a protective hand over the basket. He remembered that the Tree had warned him that the tasks would no longer be easy to keep from outsiders, and he wondered exactly what this meant.

  Rounding the wrought iron gates of Higginson Park, he hopped off the bike and chained it to the bars near the playground. Velvet pouch in hand, he walked further into the park. Large trees lined the main pathway down to the river. The park was moderately busy, and Billy recognised the reds and yellows of his school uniform over by the cricket pavilion, the smokers’ corner. Billy looked over at them a while before turning back to the path and picking a tree close to the river.

  He took the pouch and opened the neck with some caution, expecting the plant to spring out. Nothing happened, not even a peeking berry. Looking more closely, he could see the small sprig quivering in the bottom of the pouch, perhaps shaking with fear. Suddenly it burst out of the pouch, turning it inside out. The shaking had been more like rapture. It launched itself onto the tree and sank its stems into the bark. The vampire of the plant world, thought Billy. After watching it for a moment, he turned back to the cricket pavilion. The group was splitting up with the failing light. Thinking of what lay waiting at the other end of the emptying park he started to head off towards the gate.

  “Hey.”

  Billy turned to see Robert cycling towards him on his bike. It fitted him perfectly, which was pretty galling. He turned back at the tree, where the mistletoe had already grown enough to hang from a branch.

  “Billy,” said Robert, out of breath and reeking of fags. “I was hoping you’d be here.”

  Billy shuffled his feet, not sure of the ground that now existed bet
ween them. “How was school?”

  “Crap, of course. Wish I’d been let off too.”

  Behind Robert, an older couple were starting to take an interest in the mistletoe.

  “Do you?”

  “’Course I do. But that’s not what I came over for. It’s about your mate, Katherine.”

  “Wasn’t she in school?”

  “No, but…”

  Billy looked at the cracked reflector on his bike, trying to focus. “Her dad kept her back home to pack?”

  “No…”

  “Well what?”

  “I’m trying to tell you. She passed out. Last night at home.”

  Billy grabbed Robert’s jacket. Was he joking?

  “Where is she now? At home?”

  “I don’t know. I just thought you’d want to… I thought we were all right now?”

  Billy let go of Robert’s jacket, reeling backwards, as images of the Gargoyle filled his mind’s eye. She is mine—had the Gargoyle meant Katherine?

  “Are you all right?” said Robert.

  “No, I mean, I’ve got to see what…”

  Robert was looking over his shoulder, causing Billy to lose track of a sentence he never quite had. “You know that plant you were sticking in that tree?”

  It was over a hundred metres to the cricket pavilion. “How could you see that from over there?”

  “I’ve got good eyes. And that bloke has just nicked it.”

  Billy turned to see the old couple walking away with the mistletoe. He shot a look back at the tree; there was still more of it there, enough to keep growing. He turned back again. “Thanks, Robert.”

  Robert shrugged and cycled off back towards the pavilion.

  Billy turned away, his thoughts full of worry for Katherine, but also concern for the task. The mistletoe was about to leave the park against the Tree’s instructions. He fired up a bit of anger. “Hey! Yes, you. Stop!”

  The old couple turned back towards Billy, who was jogging towards them.

  “You can’t take that, I just put it up there!”

  The old lady frowned at him. “You can’t own mistletoe. And there hasn’t been any in Marlow.”

  The husband rallied behind his wife. “It’s Christmas, everyone should have mistletoe at Christmas.”

  He knew that he was talking to the type of Marlow resident who answered to nobody. The lady looked over her nose at her husband, who blinked at Billy, daring him to respond. Billy was torn between spending time dealing with this and finding out about Katherine’s condition.

  “I think it would be a bad idea to take it outside the park,” said Billy, and turning, walked back up the path to where he had locked the bike. He didn’t need to look back to know they had exchanged a smug glance, before heading off to the car park. Well, he had completed the task, and given them fair warning. He took the bike and walked it up to the gate. It had been awful to see his bike with Robert, but it had been good not to have the usual round of abuse.

  Billy cycled slowly up the High Street, unsure if he should head up to Katherine’s house, the hospital or his own home. A misplaced noise grabbed his attention. Not sure whether it was the loud screams or the high revving engine that filled his ears first, Billy threw the bike against the parked cars to his left. Tyres now screeching above the engine noise, an old, gold Mercedes flew past him with its bonnet lifting. It swerved left and right, hitting the cars on either side of the High Street before clipping a huge kerbstone. The powerful car shot up in the air, spinning to its right, before landing on its side with a crash and a huge shower of sparks. The rear wheels continued to power around, until the engine gave way with a loud bang, making the people nearby scream again.

  Already sure he knew who was inside the car, Billy followed the crowd of people who rushed to see what had happened. A man was warning people to stay back in case the fuel tanks leaked. Ducking past him, Billy clambered to the side of the car, just as somebody was hauling green foliage out of the car.

  “Mistletoe!” said the man. “Must be a hundred weight of it. It’s all over the windscreen and everywhere.”

  Billy spooled away from the car with his heart pounding. This task was certainly getting noticed.

  An eager voice piped up from the crowd. “Are they dead?”

  Running back to the bike, Billy didn’t want to know the answer.

  “I think so!” said an equally eager onlooker.

  Why hadn’t he just ripped it out of their stupid, greedy hands? He forced an image of a comatose Katherine into his brain. He needed to focus. At least the Gargoyle wouldn’t risk going through town with all these crowds. He pushed the bike past the crash and crowds, before hopping back on and heading away from the High Street. Katherine. He had to find out what had happened to Katherine.

  Billy passed his house as fast as the bike could go. Leaning into the sharp corner, he tried to hold onto as much speed as he could. At least at night, he could see there were no cars approaching. The reason for the speed was the brutal angle of the hill. He used to have races with his father to see who would get off and walk first. When he first got the road bike, he’d put on the pedals that were designed for racing shoes, and attempted the hill from a standstill. The hill was so steep that each time he hauled upwards with the specialised shoes, the front wheel would lift up, making him feel as though he were about to tip over the back. This time, he would accept nothing less than completing it in one go. His legs, already complaining from the furious pace with which he had left town, now started to howl. Ignoring them, and filling every inch of his lungs with cold night air, he stared at the tarmac a few feet in front of his bike. As long as it kept moving, he wouldn’t fail.

  The hill didn’t relent easily, giving way in stages, each releasing the pressure in his legs a little more. Sweat poured through skin taut with the cold air. Katherine’s house wasn’t far. If her father’s car was in the drive, he’d know they were in; if not, it meant riding on to High Wycombe and back to the hospital. He rounded the last corner, and bright security floodlights from Katherine’s drive blinded him. He cycled steadily up into the thick gravel, eyes low, until he could move the pedals no more. There were three cars in the drive, her father’s and two he didn’t recognise. Looking past the floodlights, he could see there were lights on in the house; they had to be here. He approached the smart, bricked cottage, and pulled back the black knocker on the white door.

  The door flew open before the knocker could fall. Katherine’s father hadn’t even seen Billy, and was still in conversation with a man he was showing out. The General looked much more imposing in his uniform, and both men seemed tense. As he turned to Billy, the General eyed him, not surprised to see him there, but not entirely pleased either.

  “Come in, Billy. Through to the kitchen, on the left.”

  Billy went in. The men continued their conversation behind him as they went outside. The kitchen was warm and much bigger than theirs at home, with an Aga oven at the far end beyond a battered pine table. Billy headed for the warm stove and stood against it, letting the heat wash painfully back into his hands. Above him, a drying rack carried the General’s underpants. These polka-dotted boxers were not what Billy expected a leader of fighting men to wear.

  “I don’t think Katherine would thank me for letting you see those.” Billy jumped about three feet. The General was back, and still not smiling.

  “I wasn’t, I mean…”

  “Did you hear anything that was said after I opened the door?” said the General. “Anything at all?”

  “Not a thing,” said Billy.

  “Did you recognise that man?”

  “No, I… No.”

  “That’s what I told him,” said the General. “Damn fool thinks you’re a spy.”

  His mouth opened, then closed, then opened. “He thinks what?”

  “That Billy, was the Foreign Secretary of the United Kingdom, and apparently you evaded two secret service personnel on your way in.” The General gestured t
o a chair for Billy to sit in, and took another himself. “I’m just glad they weren’t looking after me.”

  Billy sat down, relieved to see some of the formality leaving Katherine’s father. “I thought it might have been a doctor.”

  “No. How did you find out about Katherine? She said you didn’t have a phone at home any more.”

  “We don’t. Robert caught up with me in the park, after school.”

  “Given up fighting you, has he?”

  Billy smiled. It wasn’t just confronting Robert which had brought about that change, but he didn’t mind the General thinking so. “He didn’t have any details. What happened to her?”

  He could see tremendous worry cloud over the General’s face. “She didn’t wake up this morning. Just kept sleeping. I let her rest, thinking it would be good for her, till it became obvious this wasn’t normal sleeping. Then I called the doctor.”

  “Are you taking her back to hospital?

  “The doctor thought it better that she stay here just now. She’s locked in sleep but stable, and here she won’t catch any bugs. My sister is upstairs with Katherine now. Another day, and if she’s not awake, then we go back to the hospital.”

  “He had no other ideas?” said Billy, feeling weak.

  “No, nothing concrete. Blood pressure, heart rate, everything points towards sleep.”

  Or dreaming, thought Billy. There didn’t seem to be anything else to be said, though he wondered what the Foreign Secretary had been doing here in Marlow. That was almost like the Prime Minister popping in for tea; it didn’t happen.

  “They don’t still expect you to go the Gulf?”